


Twelfth Street

by fullborn



Category: Mikey and Nicky (1976)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misuse of the Kaddish, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24666112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullborn/pseuds/fullborn
Summary: You make it sound like we're cemetery freaks.The graveyard scene, extended.
Relationships: Mikey/Nicky
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34





	Twelfth Street

It was the longest night of Mikey’s life, and he was getting tired of apologising to every dead person he tripped over in the dark shadows of the graveyard. It would be just his luck to bust an ankle, get taken out by a headstone. Christ. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. That would have been bad enough by itself, but he had Nicky Godalin whistling cheerfully at his shoulder as if they weren’t taking a stroll through a locked cemetery at night; as if it wasn’t ghoulish at best and sheer disrespect at worse.

Mikey wasn’t superstitious, or Catholic, but he didn’t find it hard to believe that they were stuck in some kind of purgatory: him and Nicky doomed to wander forever in darkness to atone for their sins. _And what might those be?_ Mikey thought — even though it didn’t take a genius to guess that leading an old friend to his death was pretty high on the fucking list.

To make it all worse, they were well and truly lost.

‘Hey Nick,’ he said, squinting into the gloom. ‘You remember how to get out of this joint? I could’ve sworn the wall was that way but it’s all starting to look strange to me. It’s that time of night. Christ, but I’m tired.’

‘What,’ Nicky said, sounding wretchedly gleeful. ‘Don’t you remember?'

‘Remember what? Don’t talk to me about memory when you’re the one that asked me if I was with you after your mother died. Two whole weeks I was looking after you! And he says to me, _don’t you remember_. You’re crazy, not me.’

Sometimes Mikey thought there was no point at all talking to Nicky, he was so damn crazy.

They had stopped walking now. Mikey planted his feet and turned to face the man behind him. Nicky had his hands stretched out and his eyebrows arched like a mime’s, shivering under Mikey’s coat. His face was pale in the moonlight and split by an awful grin.

‘Oh, I’m the crazy one?’ he asked, loud enough to wake the surrounding dead.

Mikey nodded. ‘Nuttier than a fruit loaf.’ 

‘That’s funny. As far I can tell, you’re the one they say got a screw loose.’

‘They say, who says?’

‘Guys.’ Nicky was no good at being coy. It didn’t suit him. 

‘What guys? Nick, what guys?’

‘Y’know, Jack Diamond, Dave Resnick and the rest, the whole pal cabal,’ said Nicky with an apologetic shrug, like he was trying spare Mikey’s feelings. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t remember how you beat Sid Fine to within an inch of his life? That was what, my second day at the job, Christ, you popped his nose outta joint, sent him to the hospital with a ruptured spleen. Talk about crazy! You were almost frothing at the mouth, all of ‘em are still scared shitless you’re going to snap at them next. Don’t you remember that?’

Mikey stared at him. 

‘Are you being serious right now?’

‘It was pretty serious to poor Sid. The man still can’t bring himself to look you in the face in case you decide to finish the job.’

‘The only reason,’ said Mikey, and choked on his own words as the anger rose to meet them in his throat. He saw Nicky’s eyes dart up to his forehead as if fearful the vein there might burst; apoplexy, Mikey remembered, was one of his new ridiculous medical fears, along with ulcers and hypertension. ‘The only reason I beat up Fine was because of you, you dumb imbecile.’

‘Me?’ Nicky looked the picture of ignorance, grinning ruefully into his collar as if to say, _Oh boy, Mikey’s finally lost it_. ‘You gotta get your head checked.’

‘You asked him for a light and he gave you one and you told him, nice and drippy, that you loved him — and in a predictable fashion, he took that the wrong way.’

‘What? It was a joke. I tell everyone I love them.’ The edges of Nicky’s mouth quirked up. ‘I love you.’

Mikey felt like being relentless. He was sick of being made stupid and placated by Nicky’s denial and dubious charm, if that’s what it was called, so he kept talking and watched the smile fade from Nicky’s face.

‘Sid asked if you were being smart or if you wanted to take a step outside, and you just stood there grinning like a damn organ grinder monkey, too dumb not to laugh in his face,’ he said flatly. ‘I thought he was gonna kill you, he was so hopped up...So yeah, things got out of hand. But for Chrissake, a man’s gotta defend himself.’

Nicky had taken a step forward. A shadow sloped across his side, hooded his eyes and made him strange and hard to read — but when he spoke his voice was calm, even reasonable.

‘I can defend myself,’ he said lightly.

‘No you can’t.’

‘Yes, I can.’

‘You’re no good on your own, look at you,’ said Mikey. ‘You get sick, you get out of your head, you make things worse for yourself.’ 

‘Sometimes a guy needs a friend along the way, so what? Is that so bad?’ Nicky: petulant now, like an oversized kid. Mikey wondered sometimes if they’d both quit growing at the age of ten. ‘You’re my friend, Mikey. My best friend.’

‘Your _only_ friend. You see Resnick out here breaking his neck tripping over some dead schmucks in a damn graveyard? You see Jack Diamond making sure you don’t do something stupid and get whacked? A guy needs to be able to take care of himself when he’s alone, but you call me up, drag me out here when I say I don’t want to go, make me out to be crazy in front of Resnick and the rest of them.’ He wanted to hurt him, for all those indignities and minor humiliations, for the sight of Dave Resnick laughing into his glass of wine with Nicky’s arm slung carelessly around his shoulders. ‘They only remember Sid cause you keep bringing it up every chance you get, big laughs all round, Mikey’s a certified lunatic. I wouldn’t’ve done it if it weren’t for you. You dumb sonofabitch.’

Nicky always wanted to be liked, that was his problem. He clutched at Mikey’s arm but Mikey shrugged him off and stalked further into the aisle of headstones.

‘So I won’t bring it up anymore,’ said Nicky, a little desperate and wheedling. ‘I’m sorry Mikey, don’t leave. It’s all a joke, see, but I won’t bring it up if you don’t like it.’ 

‘What sort of a guy goes around telling everyone he loves them,’ Mikey asked, flinging back around to face him, ‘without looking to get his face smushed into the pavement every other minute? They don’t touch you; you’re the one that got the inner circle, friends all round. _Because of me.’_

Nicky wiped the sweat off his face and let his hand drop to his side. He looked pathetic. Mikey’s coat was too wide at the shoulders, too short at the cuff. It made him look like a kid.

‘I don’t go round telling everyone I love them.’

‘You do. ‘

‘Yeah, but I don’t mean it with everyone,’ Nicky said, perking up. ‘Look at it this way. A guy gives you a light and you tell him you love him, and it’s nothing, it’s a laugh. It’s all a game. See? Mikey, I love you.’ He grinned broadly and clutched his sides, but his eyes were dead serious. ‘ _Ha ha ha!_ ’ 

Mikey knew from thirty years of friendship that Nicky always tried to be funny when he was trying to hide what he really meant, and it was usually up to Mikey to figure it out. Except this time he didn’t want to figure anything out. He was tired. Most of all, he was tired of being Nick Godalin’s friend.

‘I’m not laughing,’ Mikey said.

‘I know.’ 

‘You can’t say that.’

‘If you laugh it’s not true,’ Nicky explained, anxiety creeping into his voice. ‘Why won’t you laugh, Mikey?’

Mikey felt the hard knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. He had thought this would be easy: a phone call and an out, he wouldn’t have even had to be there if things had gone according to plan. Instead he had Nicky looking at him, pleading with him to play the game so they could kid themselves things were all nice and Howdy Doody. Except one of them was going to die, and dammit if Mikey didn’t feel like he was the one who was going to drop after all.

‘I can’t do this Nicky. Don’t you do this to me.' 

Nicky reached for him. Man, was he breaking the rules, but Mikey let Nicky pat his hair and tug a thread from his sleeve with his long clever fingers while he resisted the urge to smooth down Nicky’s rumpled collar in turn. Nicky was always such a mess; Mikey was always the one cleaning up. Push and pull, push and pull.

‘When a guy comes to the end of his life,’ Nicky said nobly. ‘There’s some things he’s got to look back on —’ 

‘Oh, spare me, you’re at the end of your life. You’re not going to die.’

‘How do you know that? Even if there’s not a hit out like you say, the stress could still eat through the lining of my stomach, I could die from a perforated ulcer, I got pains. You can’t tell me I’m not going to die.’

He was winding himself back up, breathing hard, the whites of his eyes visible as he blinked at Mikey in the dark and trembled like a whipped dog.  Mikey gripped him by the shoulders and shook. ‘You’re not going to die if I tell you you’re not going to die.’ 

‘What’s the point in living if you have to feel like this?’ whined Nicky. ‘I got pains in my stomach, my heart’s beating faster than a jackrabbit’s, I can barely see straight, I’m sweating through my shirt. I got clammy feet. My hands are like ice blocks.’

He clapped a palm to the back of Mikey’s neck and Mikey leapt back, swearing at the sudden cold.

‘Get off! You’re freezing.’

‘I told you. I’m as good as dead.’

This was no good. Mikey could tell Nicky was getting mournful and anxious all at once; they’d never find the way out at this rate, not if Nicky got uncooperative and forced Mikey to haul his limp body over the wall by his collar.

‘Where’s the damn gate?’ Mikey asked for what must have been the tenth time. ‘I’m all mixed up in here. Which way did we come?’

‘What’s it matter, anyway?’

Mikey chose a direction at random. ‘Shut up and walk,’ he said, making sure he could hear the slick sound of Nick’s shoes in the wet grass behind him before making his way toward what he hoped was the boundary wall. ‘Come on. We don’t have all night.’

A wind rattled the invisible leaves above them and shook the boughs so their twisting shadows momentarily blocked out the moon. Mikey huddled deeper into Nicky’s coat. He focused on the stillness and the sound of their feet and the steady ticking of his father's watch, grateful he had a moment to gather his own thoughts now that exhaustion and fear had subdued Nicky into blessed silence. _Find a telephone, that was the next step,_ he told himself, _he had to find a telephone and —_ He jumped as an owl hooted once and was quiet. Kinda spooky. 

Behind him, Nicky sniffed. Mikey thought maybe he was crying. 

They kept walking. 

‘Hey, Mikey.’ 

Nicky never could keep his mouth shut for long. ‘What?’ groaned Mikey.

‘It’s okay you couldn’t remember the words.’

‘What?’

‘To your prayer,’ Nicky said. He jogged a bit to catch up, shoes slipping on the grass until they were walking side by side. ‘When you were praying over my mother back there.’

‘I was saying Kaddish.’

‘Well, it’s okay you couldn’t remember the words. Maybe it’ll come back to you. Maybe you could say it for me?’

‘You’re not a Jew, Nick, and it’s not your funeral.’

‘It might be. Was my dear mother Jewish? You’ll say it for my mother, God rest her soul, but not me, that it? I’m a dead man walking. I want you to pray for me.’ 

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘I don’t think you’re a very good Jew,’ said Nicky, forehead creased with childish concern. ‘You can’t say the Kaddish and you say _Jesus Christ._ You don’t even believe in Him, for Chrissake.’

There was nothing Mikey would have liked more in that moment than to push him into the nearest open grave, but he muscled past it. ‘I can say things I don’t believe,’ he said. ‘Say ‘em all the time. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Like what, like how you say they’re not looking to kill me?’ Nicky pointed in accusation. ‘I don’t believe it either. That’s a lousy thing to believe. Why bother leaving this graveyard, I’m a dead man after all. I might as well stay here.’ 

He had stopped walking. Mikey turned and watched as Nicky sat down on the grass and flopped onto his back with his hands folded across his chest like a corpse. Mikey shoved him hard in the side with his foot.

‘Get up. Get up, Nick.’

‘I’m dead,’ the corpse said, without budging.

‘You’re unbelievable, that’s what you are. '

‘This is a good place to be. I don’t mind dying so much if I get to be here, it’s peaceful.’ Nicky reached up a pale hand and tugged at his coat. ‘Sit down.’ 

‘No.’

‘Suit yourself.’

Mikey stood there looking down at Nicky’s prone form, trying to figure out how best to rouse him. He felt ridiculous. Nicky had a way of making things ridiculous no matter how sacred or important they were; he was stinking up the graveyard with this farce and was Mikey playing the stooge and going along with it like he always did. Mikey rubbed his face. He could feel himself getting a headache. 

‘Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba,’ he murmured, slow so he could think of what came next. 'B’alma di-v’ra chirutei…’

Nicky sat bolt upright.

‘Is that it?’ he cried excitedly. ‘Do you remember now?’

‘V’yamlich malchutei —’ Mikey frowned. ‘You’ve made me lose my place, Nick, I’ve got to start again. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be dead?’

Nicky obediently lay back down and closed his eyes. A wet patch was seeping through the material of his coat, but he didn’t seem to mind. Mikey clasped his hands together and went back to the beginning.

‘Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba…’

Right then, Nicky stated mumbling to himself. ‘Hail Mary full of grace—’

‘What are you doing?’ Mikey hissed.

‘Praying.’

‘ _I’m_ praying. Be quiet. Didn’t you say you were dead?’

‘Why can’t we both pray? It works better this way: Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee.’

Mikey groaned into his hands. ‘Oh this is terrible.’

‘Blessed are thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.’

‘I’m not doing this,’ Mikey said, feeling his grip on the night slipping away from him along with what little self-respect he had left. ‘I tried praying for you and look what you’re doing.’

Nick ignored him, face screwed up in concentration.

‘Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, which might be closer than we think. Amen.’ His eyes flew open and he sat up, grinning at Mikey from under a damp sweep of hair. ‘That wasn’t so hard.’

Mikey felt defeated. He took off his coat, carefully laid it on the grass beside Nicky and sat down.‘I think you changed the last bit,’ he said.

‘I’m cold,’ said Nicky cheerfully, clattering his teeth in a parody of distress. ‘I got hypothermia, my circulation’s out.’ He held his hands out before him and looked at his reddened fingers. They were shaking badly. 

Mikey felt a swell of concern despite himself.

‘Gimme your hand.’ He grabbed Nicky’s hand and started rubbing it to bring the blood back. ‘Why didn’t you wear something warmer, you moron? And the other one, come on.’

Nicky passively gave Mikey his other hand without complaint, let Mikey massage his hands back to life while he tilted his head back and peered at the black sky above. Mikey liked him when he was calm, and he said so.

‘It’s nice being out here,’ Nicky sighed. ‘I think graveyards should only be visited at night. I think we should be the only ones allowed.'

‘In the whole world, that it?’

‘Yes, the whole world. Mikey and Nicky against everyone else. It would be ridiculous for us _not_ to win, just ridiculous.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Be quiet.'

Mikey gave his hands a final squeeze and replaced them back in his lap. Nicky let him. He splayed his fingers across his knees and smiled, unusually deliberate and strained, his eyes seeking out Mikey’s face. It made Mikey nervous. 

‘Sometimes I miss you, you know that?’ said Nicky. He sounded terrifically sad. 

‘What are you saying?’ Mikey asked. ‘I’m right here.’

‘Maybe you miss me when I’m right here. There’s been times tonight I feel like you’re looking right through me.’ Nicky paused. ‘…Does that make it easier?’

A cinderblock dropped in Mikey’s stomach. He distracted himself by pulling Nicky’s foot into his lap and began to rub his ankle with both hands. It would be no good if Nicky’s feet got so cold he couldn’t walk; Mikey didn’t think he could carry him for very long. 

‘Make what easier?’ 

Nicky watched him work his hands around his leg. He could be shrewd sometimes, terribly shrewd, but there were some lines Mikey knew even he wouldn’t cross. 

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Nicky said at last, and when he sighed his breath came out as tiny icicles in the cold air. ‘I say stupid things sometimes, I run my mouth; I got an excretory system that runs the wrong way, that’s what Jan says. Shit instead of words.' He twisted his foot out of Mikey’s grip and kicked at him as Mikey laughed. ‘Oh, you think that’s funny? Some friend you are.’

‘Yeah, some friend I am,’ Mikey said. ‘Making sure that your toes don’t freeze off, some friend. You could help.’

It was all so ridiculous. Mikey felt the laughter bubbling up inside him, and when he got going he couldn’t stop. It was terrible, to be laughing in a graveyard like this.

Nicky rubbed at his eyebrow with a finger, frowning at Mikey as Mikey covered his face and chuckled fit to burst. ‘Can’t you be serious?’ 

A tear leaked down Mikey’s weatherbeaten cheek. He wiped it away and stifled the urge to howl with his own fist. He looked at Nicky, who was glaring at him, no sign of humour in his expression. 

‘I can be very serious,’ said Nicky, straight brows drawn into one flat line above his eyes. ‘I’m serious right now, look at how serious I am. I’m an extremely serious person. When I’m serious, you laugh, when I’m trying to be funny you look at me like you’ve never heard a joke in your life. Why’s that, Mikey? Huh?’

Mikey shrugged. ‘That’s the way it is.’ 

‘I’m trying to make you understand something very internal here, it’s hard, I’m trying to be serious. Would you quit laughing? I’m trying to tell you something.’

The funniness of it all drained away as quickly as it had arrived. They were just two two-bit hoods sitting in a cemetery, and Nicky was going to ruin it all by saying something heartfelt and open and painfully true and then Mikey wouldn’t be able to go through with what he’d assured Resnick he had the stomach, and the loyalty, to do. Better not to hear it. Mikey straightened up and raised his fist threateningly.

‘Look at how quiet it is,’ he grunted. ‘I’ll smack you in the mouth if you say another word. We oughta be quiet, show some respect. Shhh.’ 

Nicky didn’t even cringe. He was like a deer standing in a freeway, too dumb to get out of the way at the sight of approaching headlights, or just plain stubborn. 

‘I don’t care. You can hit me, Mikey, that’d be terrific. But it’s not gonna stop me.’

'Christ Almighty,’ Mikey said, with added despair. 'Being with you is very hard, you know that? My son, when he was a baby he barely caused any trouble, but you? You’re relentless. Look, I know what you’re going to say, so it’s best you don’t say it at all. Okay?’ He was almost pleading now, Christ was he pathetic. ‘Nicky, I’m asking you not to say it.’

‘How can you know what I’m going to say?’ Nicky pointed out. ‘You don’t know. You’re not in my head.’

‘Oh?' 

‘Tell me what I’m thinking right now, if you’re so psychic. You should set up a stall, do readings, earn more than what Resnick’s paying you for —’

Mikey shoved him. 

‘Right now you’re thinking about how to be the biggest pain in my ass,’ he said, grateful for the reprieve. They both knew how this worked: Nicky would make him laugh and Mikey would grumble, and then they'd be friends again. 

Nicky rolled across the grass and leapt to his feet; he had bits of leaf and twig in his hair as he thrust his hand into Mikey’s face, the grin back in place as if it had never left.

‘Au contraire. _Wrong!_ ’ He yelled the word loud as a gunshot, and Mikey jumped. ‘Hey Mikey. Tell me my fortune, go on.’

Mikey took a look at his big palm, sticking a finger on one of the lines there — he didn’t even know what they were called. He could feel Nicky’s pulse leaping in his wrist.

‘Long and happy life,’ he said. ‘Another few kids. A woman that stays around, that sort of thing.’

‘Oh boy, you are terrible,’ Nicky lamented, shaking his head. ‘That’s abysmal. I’d ask for my money back, if I had any self-respect.’ 

Mikey grabbed his arm and hauled himself to his feet, joints protesting loudly that he was too old for this juvenile mishegoss. He brushed off Nicky’s coat and put it on. It was damp but that was okay. There were lots of things he could manage. Nicky reached into the folds of his jacket and pulled out a hip-flask and sloshed the contents around. He made a face. 

‘Here, gimme that,’ Mikey said, snatching it from his hand. ‘It’s not good for you.’ He unwound the cap and took a long sip. The whiskey burned his throat, cheap stuff Nicky always insisted on drinking no matter what else Mikey tried to offer him. It really was terrible.

‘Oh, and it’s good for you?’ asked Nicky, eyes twinkling.

‘Very. It calms my nerves.’

‘What have you got to be nervous about? There’s no one after us, remember?’

‘Dealing with you makes me nervous,’ said Mikey. ‘What do I got to be nervous about? Like you gotta ask.’

He tossed Nicky the flask and looked around. There, through the tree-line: motion! A strip of light illuminated their surroundings and flashed across Nicky’s waxy face as a double-decker bus moved in the road beyond, casting a yellow glow over the dark perimeter of the graveyard before vanishing into the night.

‘Holy shit,’ crowed Nicky, leaping on the spot and raising his hands like a preacher. ‘Did you see that? We’re saved, hallelujah, amen! A _-men!’_

Mikey threw an arm around Nicky and squeezed his shoulders through his coat, grinning at him, and Nicky looked up at him and his face shone with something raw and grateful and loveable in the way only Nicky could be loveable. Mikey hated him sometimes but he loved him too. He imagined it had been them on that bus, looking in, being swept away somewhere that was dry and safe and far away from Dave Resnick’s hitman and the unending terror of the long night; a place of their own where Nicky could become calm and placid and well under Mikey’s watchful care, where his stomach was free of pain and his mind free of panic. Mikey wondered what he’d have to do to get Nicky on an airplane. It wasn’t so impossible, was it? There was still plenty of time for them to run, if they were smart about it. 

After all, it had always been the two of them before there was anyone else. 

‘Come on,’ said Mikey. Nicky ducked under his arm and planted a sloppy kiss on his ear; Mikey shoved him off, laughing. ‘The gate’s that way.’ 

**Author's Note:**

> To the two people that read this...leave a comment, maybe. Cheers!


End file.
